I am trying to understand – I have been trying to understand – how, having steeped ourselves in a similar tradition, we could come to such different conclusions.

It is claimed that certain women should not say certain things. That a woman who finds healing from male violence in the company of other women should be silent about the power of that healing. That she should not try to protect that space (or even raise questions about protecting that space). That she is wrong to be concerned that it will no longer be there for the women who come after her. Because that healing comes at the expense of others. Because that healing, therefore, is violence.

I understand something of the logic. I have spent my life thinking the resistance to sovereign violence, unpicking the way…

Early last summer, following the Dyke March debacle, Benjamin Cohen, publisher and CEO of Pink News, retweeted a trans male, Sarah Brown, telling me to suck his balls:

Sarah Brown is a man who identifies as a woman. He has, according to him, had surgery to remove his external male genitalia. Whether his balls are pickled or not, I don’t know, and nor do I want to. The point is that it’s rather rude to tell a woman to suck your balls. (For the avoidance of doubt, I did not write the post to which he linked, nor have I ever written anything for that site. If I had, I’d own up to it. It’s a good site.)

I asked Cohen whether I was to take his retweet as an endorsement:

I didn’t get any further response from Cohen. Now, if I were him, and I had NOT…

I have no idea where I stand on the whole “gender spectrum” if you can call it that. I know that the idea of transitioning is tied deeply to my sexuality, but I have no idea if it’s a fetish or something more. I tend to have no issue with the fact that I am male; in fact I would go so far as to say I enjoy being male, but whenever I contemplate sex or intimate relationships, I am either effeminate or female in my fantasies.

A teenage male having some confusing sexual fantasies, but having no issues with being male.

When I first found out about the term transgender around the age of 12 or 13, I did extensive research and found out that people who…

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Did I ever tell you guys the story of Bertje, the dog I had when Martin and I met? I may have done, if so, just scroll past, cause I’m telling it again.

Bertje came from the rescue centre, and when I got him I was still living in student digs. They said he was 5, but he turned out to be a lot older than that, probably about 10, if several vets’ best guesses were anything to go by. I lived in Delft and used to walk him in a park behind the flat we were in.

Now Bertje was very protective of me (as Martin once experienced when in the early days he came to see me when I was ill and aul’ Bertje would not let him near me at all), and despite the fact that he was severely dog aggressive to some dogs, he was a good boy.

Bertje and I went to general obedience classes, where he learned how to be slightly less aggressive towards certain types of dog (he really really hated Scottish Collies) and one of the things I found quite endearing was that his recall (when he wasn’t storming off to kill a Scottish Collie) was pretty bloody good, but he absolutely refused to be sent away.

Anyway, we always hung around after classes to watch the “police” (private protection) dog training, aul’ Bertje and I. I had no plans to enroll him, but it was good fun to see how these dogs (which included a small herd of chihuahuas!) did their work.

One afternoon I was walking him in the park, it was getting dark already and at some point a man steps out from behind some bushes with his trousers down to his knees and his unmentionables ready for action. Purely instinctively I shouted “Bertje, stellen die vent!”, which was the command given to the dogs in police dog training to attack the guy in the suit.

And to my great surprise, Bertje went.

Despite the fact that he would never obey if I sent him forward, away from me, he pulled up his lips, bared all his teeth and went for the guy. And that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone run with their trousers on their knees.

Aul’ Bertje got some super treats of course. He learned what to do simply by observing other dogs and reacted when he was needed. He was A Good Boy

” So attention, all you women out there: If you have short hair, wear pants, and stand up to authority with bravery and conviction – you know, those three incredibly unladylike behaviors – then you are very likely A SECRET MAN. Because a person of strength, intelligence, and slacks who is also a woman? What a crazy thought!”

I woke up this morning to an absolutely shameful article in the Huffington Post about famed civil rights activist, priest, lawyer, and feminist Paulie Murray. After a brief summary of her accomplishments, the article veers into wild speculation and claims that Murray would have identified as a trans man if she had access to “the language for trans identity” at the time. Apparently it was only “respectability politics” that kept her from embracing manhood later in life, which makes sense considering the first female Episcopalian priest, first female J.S.D. from Yale, and co-founder of the National Organization for Women was almost certainly terrified of ever doing things that might result in criticism.

The evidence the article gives for Murray’s supposed transgenderism is little more than her appreciation for pants, short hair, female sex partners, and the name Oliver – which she gave only once, to white male police officers,

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My earlier question (What is a woman?), which I thought would be easy to answer for transwomen, has gone unanswered.

I have received some “no you” things, a few accusations of not knowing what it was like to be trans, but no clear answer on the question “What is a woman”.

In my naivete I thought transwomen would have no problem answering that question, since they are all becoming one. And if you want to become something, it seems to me that you know exactly what it is you’re becoming.

Since that question is too hard, let me ask you a simpler one, because if you’re a transwoman that claims to be a woman, you should be so deep into this you know this perfectly:

What does a woman do that makes her unequivocally, unmistakeably a woman?

(Again, none of the biologicals. Biology is easy and real and if you’re not female, you cannot be an adult human female and therefore that part of the definition of woman already does not apply to transwomen. If you’re a transwoman claiming to be female, I suggest a quick refresher course in basic mammalian biology.)

There is something faintly ridiculous about this wet-behind-the-ears lad shutting up the savvy, middle-aged Penelope. But it’s a nice demonstration that right where written evidence for Western culture starts, women’s voices are not being heard in the public sphere; more than that, as Homer has it, an integral part of growing up, as a man, is learning to take control of public utterance and to silence the female of the species.

Social Justice sanctimony has been rehearsed into a performative public ceremony: call out, penitence, re-education. In short: Do what uncle sez.

I’ve witnessed these rotational recriminations — launched by males and their third wave neoliberal allies, almost inevitably against feminist women — online, on campuses, and increasingly in public conversations.

I know what bullying is: my horror-show adolescence could amount to a trial under the Geneva Conventions.